Hannah Ross - The Last Outpost - An Antarctic Dystopia

“But…”

“I have a better idea,” he said in a sudden stroke of inspiration. “I think Jerry isn’t in the galley yet. Let’s stop by the greenhouse.”

Zoe wrinkled her nose. “I know the kind of drink Gordon keeps in his fridge in the greenhouse, and I doubt it’s going to help me solve my problems.”

“I don’t mean alcohol. Come on, we’ll go in to lunch a few minutes later.”

Fresh and verdant, the greenhouse was a haven of life and tranquility in the glum atmosphere of McMurdo. The plants, oblivious to the happenings of the mad world thousands of miles away, were shooting up towards the artificial lights, spreading their leaves and straddling the trellis Jerry had helpfully strung up for them. They found Jerry on all fours, moving a rack of containers with tiny peppers. He straightened up and smoothed down his orange work pants, regarding them with surprise.

“Hey there, Buck,” he said. “Zoe, come on in. I don’t often see you around here.”

“Um, well, no,” she said, fingering a striped eggplant. “This is, um, a really nice place. I don’t reckon I’ve been here these two years.”

“Not if you could help it,” Jerry said brightly, and looked at Scott. “What’s up, Buck?”

“I think Zoe could do with some occupational therapy,” Scott said. “Maybe you have some, I don’t know, tomatoes that need replanting?”

“What?” Zoe spluttered with indignation. “I don’t need any occupational therapy, and I don’t know anything about plants!”

“Hey, whatever,” Scott threw up his arms in defense. “I just thought it might be better than depression meds.”

Zoe looked as if she were ready to murder him on the spot. “I don’t…” she managed to utter. “You have no right to… to… to present me like I’m some sort of raving lunatic!”

A glimmer of understanding appeared in Jerry’s eyes, and he nodded. “Hey, there’s no need to get all prickly,” he told Zoe. “I spend almost all my time in the greenhouse these days. I get out only to go to meals, or head to my quarters for the night. I’ve nearly given up the clubs. People are so bloody depressing, and talk about nothing but whatever else might be getting blown up on the other side of the world right now. How’s a man supposed to take that? So I take my laptop here, to do some reading and listen to my collection of jazz, and I’m a happier man for it. But you have no such luxury. You’re stuck at the communications center all day long. If I were you, I would have run screaming for antidepressants a long time ago.”

“I — I don’t… I wouldn’t…” Zoe muttered, but the anger had gone out of her face, and she looked tired and sad. “I don’t know how we’re going to pull through this winter,” she said, rubbing her eyes.

“Better than most of the world, I’d say,” Jerry ventured. “At least if you view things objectively, you know. Anyway… don’t feel like you have to do this, Zoe, but I do have a few projects going on that I could use a helping hand with, and the greenhouse, as you see,” he spread his arms, “is woefully understaffed. So if you come from time to time, you could do something useful, or you could just putter around, or lie in the hammock and look at the plants and relax. And while you’re here…” he stepped aside and flicked the button of an electric kettle. “I haven’t told anybody, but I have a little collection of medicinal plants here, and I make some tinctures. Harmless stuff,” he hastened to add. “Lavender, sage, mint… but I do find it helps me to go to sleep at night. Here, I’ll fix you a cup.”

He poured the boiling water into a smaller kettle, into which he also stuffed some fresh leaves. Zoe eyed the brew suspiciously.

“Go ahead, it’s just herb tea. We’ll all have a cup. Buck, there’s a packet of ginger biscuits in the drawer. Pull it out, will you?”

Whether it was the tea, or simply the change of pace and atmosphere, Zoe relaxed and leaned back in one of Jerry’s folding easy chairs. “You wanna swap jobs with me?” she asked.

“Not a chance. What, deal all day long with people who are hysterical because their email didn’t get through, or because their internet calls keep getting disconnected? I’ll stay here with my lettuce and radishes, thank you very much.”

Zoe placed her cup upon the little counter next to the sink. “Thanks for the tea, Jerry,” she said. “You guys coming for lunch? I think it’s meatballs and pasta today. We still have half an hour left.”

As Scott and Jerry followed her out of the greenhouse, the latter muttered, “I think I should propagate some more lavender. People are going to need it this winter. And, unlike alcohol, it’s easy to keep going.”

“Yes,” Scott agreed, “we should limit how much alcohol people can buy at the station store. Don’t want anybody to develop a habit.”

Jerry smiled. “I knew you’d get these ideas eventually. That’s why I set up my own little brewing station.”

Scott shot him an alarmed look. “Jerry, don’t put me in a difficult position. You know that brewing alcohol at McMurdo is illegal. I would have to report you to the Antarctic Program if I ever caught you in the act.”

“But you won’t,” Jerry clapped him on the back, “because you’re a good friend, and will always be wise enough to look away if you happen to see anything unusual. Relax, Buck. The London Tower is probably crumbling down as we speak. What’s a little home-brewed moonshine compared to that?”

The autumn Equinox was over now, and the last sunset was approaching fast. Scott was determined to witness this last glimmer of sunshine before the long and dark winter in the valley of the Anai, and participate in their winter-welcoming celebration as he had promised. Fortunately for him, the AN-85 research team was also planning to take advantage of this last bit of sunshine. Stanley would take them all in the helicopter, and they would probably stay overnight. Sue Ellis, of course, emphasized time and time again that ‘while the Anai were fascinating, excessive contact with them was inadvisable’. Scott turned a deaf ear, however. Sue Ellis was a pain in the rear, but she was alright, and wouldn’t report him to the Antarctic Program supervisors unless he committed a gross breach of moral conduct akin to Victor Nash.

In preparation for the last sunset, Scott left all the affairs of the station in good order and, while Nash was nominally left in charge — he could not be stripped of his official authority, after all — little remained for him to do.

Scott looked forward to the start-of-winter feast with great anticipation, but was unwilling to admit just how eager he was growing to see Tahan again. She had promised to take him to the Cave of Spirits once more on his next visit, and it had been tacitly understood they would be alone. Scott recalled the light of the oil lamp shining dimly in her golden hair, and her lilting accent giving a charm to the English words she was learning fast. It is not about her, he would have said if someone had unduly probed into his thoughts. I am a researcher, and I wouldn’t compromise my professionalism. It wouldn’t be strictly true, however. His fascination with the Anai was quite unlike his fascination with microorganisms found under a sheet of ice. The valley drew him on like a magnet, and he wouldn’t rest until he returned there.

The warm humidity of the geysers was infinitely soothing after the icy blasts of wind upon the descending trail. It was dark, and Scott directed his steps by the twinkling lights of the village. Tahan heard his steps and came forward to meet him, followed by Egan, who bounced happily and clamored to be tossed into the air.